


Give Me A Try

by stilinskitrash



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Blow Jobs, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hook-Up, Lacrosse, Minor Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Oral Sex, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension, in the romance sense not the sexual sense lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-11-01 13:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17867828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskitrash/pseuds/stilinskitrash
Summary: Lydia's regular hookup situation becomes interrupted by a lanky, freckly and hyperactive new situation.





	1. Chapter 1

Going to sports games to support your regular hookup wasn't exactly the same as going to support your boyfriend, Lydia mulled, sat besides a cheering Allison. At least her best friend was there for  _ hers _ , prepared to stand up amidst the crowd and hoot excitedly whenever Scott got a moment in the spotlight. Lydia watched Jackson with a cocktail of disinterest and sexual infatuation. He’d been hesitant to label their relationship but proud to invite her to his first big lacrosse game of the season. She hadn't been impressed.

When Jackson had her up against the lockers, her skirt and knickers around her ankles, Lydia told herself this was both what she wanted and needed right now. He was  _ the _ hottest guy on campus. This  _ was _ good for her, even if every thrust deeper into her felt more and more hollow. Jackson was a good fuck, even if he wasn’t the nicest guy within 5 miles of her.

She looked on with her phone clutched in her hand as Jackson crashed gracelessly into a member of their own team; jersey 24. The other guy was all limbs, flailing to maintain balance before landing on his ass to laughter from the crowd. He ripped off his helmet, animatedly shouting at Jackson who couldn’t have given a shit. Seconds later, Scott McCall was restraining 24, who probably wouldn’t have lasted one whole round against Jackson in reality.

“Stiles is like a tiny dog, thinks he can take on way more than he can actually chew.” Allison mused, biting her nails as her boyfriend leaned in to give jersey 24 a pep talk. 

Lydia didn’t know this  _ Stiles _ . She hadn’t even really had Scott on her radar until Allison had begun dating him in freshman year, so it wasn’t a surprise she didn’t know his friends. Jersey 24--Stiles--was almost endearing, even from this far away. His movements were comic, as if he were playing a caricature of himself.

He didn’t cross her mind again she was at least a handful of double vodka and cokes deep.

The lacrosse after parties were notorious for getting out of hand. In the year that Lydia had maintained her routine hookups with Jackson, she’d attended them all. (conveniently, they were usually at Jackson's lacrosse frat house anyway.) Allison had taken a lot of convincing and bribery to join her, and as soon as Scott came into the picture convincing her wasn't all too hard.

She was pouring herself another drink when a hard shove knocked the bottle of wine out of her hand and smashed on the floor, spraying her legs and narrowly avoiding her feet. The people around her went silent as Lydia stared at the mess in shock. 

“Jesus, fuck,” slurred a guy behind her breathlessly. “Fuck, I'm so-”

Lydia whirled on him, only to get her first real up close look at  _ Stiles _ . His eyes were fixed wordlessly on her, in a state of bewilderment and surprise. 

“You left footed, blind, dipshit,” she was  _ seething _ . Stiles’ eyes widened, his hands rising up in defence. “Watch where you're going!” fuck. The wine had splattered the bottom of her very,  _ very  _ expensive dress with deep red freckles.

Stiles’ mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, his stare fixed with bewilderment and shock.

“Let me--” 

“ _ No _ ,” she hissed, batting him away. “Leave me  _ alone _ .”

Lydia knew Jackson’s frat house like the back of her hand by now. She knew which bathroom was used the least, and the quickest way to get there. Once inside, she rooted around the cupboards and by some miracle found an unused (probably  _never_  previously used) white face cloth. Dampening it, she perched on the side of the bathtub and began dabbing at the stains, biting down on her lip out of frustration.

A knock at the bathroom door made her jump and nearly fall backwards into the tub. The room was still spinning from all the drinks she’d been throwing back to distract her from Jackson's flirting with some of the girls from the lacrosse women's team.

“Hey, it’s-- it’s me. The guy who, uh, the dumbass. Please let me in. I want to help.”

She took a deep breath, squeezing the cloth between her fist. “Go  _ away _ .”

“Please,” he sighed, knocking at the door again. “I feel shit.”

“Boohoo.” she snapped.

He sighed again, louder and with emphasis. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll pay for your Uber home? I’ll get you more wine? Back massages?”

Lydia rolled her eyes and draped the cloth over the side of the tub. 

Stiles nearly collapsed into the bathroom when she whipped the door open, and he stumbled to regain composure. His hair had been pushed back as if he’d been combing his hands through it incessantly. She gripped him by the neck of his shirt and pulled him into the bathroom behind her.

“I’m Stiles--”

“I know.” Lydia interrupted, snatching the cloth and dampening it again as Stiles leaned against the basin of the sink.

His eyebrows raised in amusement, “oh, you know? Are you a fan?”

She didn’t think she could scoff louder than she did. “As if.”

Stiles’ expression wavered as his eyes flitted over her, “wait, I know you! You’re one of Jackson’s hookups, aren’t you?”

Lydia’s cheeks burned.  _ One of? _

She fixed her eyes on the red stains on her dress, pulling the fabric taut. “I know Jackson, yes. I’m Lydia.”

“He’s a dick, you know.”

Biting her tongue, her head snapped towards him. “Do you ever stop talking?”

Stiles shut his mouth tightly. 

“And I know he’s a dick,” she muttered, “I’m not stupid  _ or  _ blind.”

The lanky boy nodded, staring at her hands dabbing at her dress now. His jaw tensed.

“I know he fucks other women and that he’s a player, I know he has commitment issues and anger issues and a superiority complex. I know he’s an  _ asshole _ . I know he gets fucking  _ tired _ being on top which is a dumb excuse for a lacrosse player, and that he doesn’t see anything wrong with receiving more than he's giving in bed. I know--”

“Hey, hey,” cold palms stilled her hands, fingers wrapping around her knuckles and holding them just above her dress. He’d moved to sit beside her on the edge of the tub. “Don’t worry, I also know that. For sure. Well, not the stuff about him in bed, but I could’ve guessed. He’s King Asshole.”

Lydia let herself smile a little, staring at Stiles’ thumb rubbing small, comforting circles on the back of her hand. She hummed softly, part in agreement and part in amusement.

“Why are you with him?” he asked, with gentle earnest.

“He-- sometimes he makes me feel good.” she murmured, cringing as the words spilled out. Her hands tensed under Stiles.

“Why do you need him to make you feel that?”

Lydia cocked a brow at him, closing up again. “Alright, Mr. Psychologist. If I needed to talk to a therapist, I would.”

Stiles’ scrunched his forehead, “sorry, sorry. It’s just… he shouldn’t be the thing that makes you feel good. He’s not a good person. He doesn’t determine your self worth, Lydia.”

His eyes were like that of a puppies, putting a whole new meaning to the phrase puppy dog eyes. Big and brown and looking at her with honesty and earnest. Lydia resisted squirming, suddenly feeling warmer at the thought of the proximity between them. The freckles on his face looked like they were begging to be mapped out, to be touched all over.

“I just want to feel good,” she hummed, standing up and parting his knees, so she could stand in between them. The alcohol was making her talk, she was sure, and not the soft curves of his jaw and his adorably upturned nose. Gently, she wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing his face close to hers. “I want to feel something. Please?”

He pursed his lips and hummed a low sigh, placing hesitant hands on either side of her waist. 

“You  _ are  _ good,” he whispered, shaking his head.

“You don’t know me.” Lydia shrugged, forcing nonchalance as she planted a drawn out kiss on the line of his jaw. 

“I have an intuition for this kind of thing.” there was a gruffness to his voice emerging with every kiss she left on his skin, as if he were straining. She smiled at the faint lipstick marks she left on his neck and jawline.

“Whatever,” she brushed off, saying the word against his lips as she pushed closer in between his thighs, intertwining her hands in his hair.

Stiles’ grip on her waist turned tight, and he pulled them off the tub and up against the bathroom door. With one hand, he slid the latch on the lock, and the other hitched up the hem of her dress. His hands slid up the length of skin between her thigh and her hips, pulling at the thin fabric of her underwear. Lydia’s fingers fiddled quickly with the zip of his trousers, letting him slide out of them. His hands latched back on to her skin as if there were a magnetic attraction, his teeth tugging on her bottom lip as she raked her fingers up his back.

He dipped a finger into her with a gentleness that had Lydia grabbing his wrist and guiding him faster, with urgency. Their lips slanted across each other, panting as Stiles’ touch pooled a heat in her stomach, warm and exciting. She had to admit that she hadn’t thought him the type to have much sexual experience, but he wasn’t doing anything  _ wrong _ . In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed being touched that way by another person.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” she sighed, never usually letting herself be remotely vocal with hookups.

Her head dipped down, burying her face in the crook of his neck and biting down as moans of pleasure slipped from her lips. His free hand cupped her ass, filling his palm with as much skin as he could and squeezing hard.

The build up was euphoric. Lydia wanted to rub her thighs together tightly and ride herself over the wave of her climax, but she hadn’t even started on Stiles. He seemed altogether shocked when she pulled his hand away, brows furrowing worriedly.

“Did I do something wrong? You didn’t finish—” the genuine concern in her voice made her chest tight.

Instead of answering him, she smiled sweetly and took the fingers he’d had inside of her between her lips, sucking on them slowly and lavishly.

“O-oh,” he muttered, so transfixed on her mouth that he only realised where her hands were wandering when she had one hand clasped around the base of his length, underneath the fabric of his boxers.

“Is this okay?” she was only half teasing; she wanted to do the same for him as he had for her, if he was willing. 

Stiles’ head bobbed up and down vehemently.

Lydia almost laughed aloud when she set her eyes on his cock. He was bigger than Jackson.  _ Guess big egos really are compensating for lacking in other departments _ , she mused as she pressed a hard kiss to Stiles’ lips the moment she began to stroke his length. He jolted against her at the sudden movement, mouth falling open against hers and eyes squeezing shut.

She knew how to wind a guy up, and she wasn’t planning on relenting with Stiles. Her movements were languid at first, slow and sloppy but fluid enough to establish a pattern. She teased his tip with her thumb and the precum he’d already let slip, her right hand scratching down his lower back. 

The way he groaned her name only fuelled her more, hearing the way  _ Lydia _ fell from his lips, dragging out the “ _ ah _ ” sound as she started to increase the speed and strength of her movements. His head hit the back of the bathroom door as she continued to drive him closer, causing him to curse more for two different reasons.

Swiftly, she pulled down his boxers and dropped to her knees, not minding the cold tiles all too much.

“Lydia—” he began just as she ran her tongue along his shaft, looking up at him as she did so. “Shit,” he managed to chuckle breathlessly, relishing in the way she teased him between taking her time and fucking him hard. 

He wasn’t too much to take in her mouth, and he wasn’t anything like Jackson, who would sometimes ram his cock down her throat like she’d still be able to breathe with the full length of his penis in her mouth. Stiles’ wrapped his hand up in her hair gently, only tugging occasionally as he got to grips with her movements. 

It was fun to tease him with her tongue as she sucked him off, to twist her palm around the base as she took him in her mouth. Stiles was inexplicably vocal, constantly sighing, gasping, laughing, groaning. It was all Lydia needed to keep her drive up, to get him off whilst slowly and delicately stroking her clit.

“You feel so good,” he was full of praise, “you’re so fucking good. Don’t stop, don’t st—” she could feel him beginning to fall apart, but they weren’t done yet.

“Don’t come,” she popped her mouth off his cock, “not yet.”

“I— okay.” he nodded, confused but adorably compliant. 

She gave him a last few strokes before hopping onto the counter in the bathroom by the sink, legs spread as she reclined back on her arms.

“So, are we going to fuck?” Lydia cocked her head, and Stiles’ expression went bezerk.

Stiles crossed the space between them in three easy strides, settling between her thighs with his forehead centimetres from her own, breathing hard.

“Condoms.”

“Oh, shit.” Lydia’s eyes rolled back into her head. “I have some but they’re in my bag, and my bag’s with my friend Allison. You?”

“I- I don’t actually have any.”

Lydia cocked a brow. “You've never thought to be prepared?”

“I don’t know,” he stumbled over his words, “I mean, I should’ve bought—”

Lydia pushed him away from her. “We’ll have a quick look in here, okay? It’s a frat house, for god’s sake. There’s bound to be some.”

There were not.

“I can ask Scott?” Stiles suggested hopefully. His demeanour has changed now they were just stood there, naked. It was vulnerable. Whilst not caught up in the heat of the moment, Lydia became hyper aware of the bare skin she had on show, her curves and blemishes and folds, visible in the harsh bathroom light. She collapsed in on herself, letting the long waves of her hair cover her chest.

She threw his underwear at him from off the floor. “Sure, and I’ll go find Allison.” Lydia didn’t meet his eyes.

Stiles nodded quickly, seemingly unable to stop. “Cool, cool, cool.” He pulled on his clothes at a rapid rate. He was all jittery, full of energy and nerves. “I’ll meet you back in here in 5.”

Doing up the latch on her bra, Lydia nodded her head at the floor. Once dressed, they left the bathroom and parted separate ways, but Lydia had no intention of returning. 

He _had_ made her feel something, something other than bitter loneliness and emptiness. In fact, she’d thoroughly enjoyed what they did do. But it was over; back to reality. It was a hookup when she was feeling low, nothing more, nothing less. Tomorrow she'd probably meet up with Jackson, and forget all about the lanky lacrosse boy with freckles and too much energy. She tried to brush Stiles from her mind as she searched the party for Allison.

Chatting animatedly to a bunch of sorority girls, her best friend was definitely less sober than she was. Lydia couldn’t understand why Allison  _ wasn’t _ a sorority girl, but she was glad for the fact she wasn’t. 

“Hey, Allison, I’m gonna head off. Text me when you’re home, please?” Allison looked at her with blank but loving eyes. “You gonna be okay?”

“I love you,” Allison hiccuped as Lydia reached past her to grab her stuff from beside Allison. “I love you so much, Lydia. I love you!”

Lydia brushed the hair out of Allison’s face, “I love you too.” she smiled. “But do text me when you’re home. Or I’ll have to text Scott and ask."  Her best friend nodded, before giggling at something one of the girls said and losing concentration on what she was promising Lydia.

The walk home wasn’t far; a block or two away was her halls, where she shared a room with a nocturnal student called Malia, who definitely wouldn’t be in.

Once home, she stripped off, had a shower, brushed her teeth, slipped into bed, and finished herself off beneath the covers, definitely  _ not _ thinking about Stiles.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for the lovely comments on the first chapter!!<3 this is my first stydia fic even tho i’ve been active in the teen wolf fandom since 2013 damn

_ where’d u go last night? _

Lydia’s eyes burned as she rubbed her eyes, wiping away the sleep so she could read her phone properly. The text from Jackson came as a surprise; she hadn’t given much thought to him caring about where she was the night before, especially not after she’d seen him cosying up with some other girls. The message had been sent at around 9AM, so most likely just before he’d headed off for morning practice. Usually she’d swing by on Sunday mornings, bring him coffee and makeout in the locker room, but the appeal of that seemed lost.

Her roommate, Malia, was a sleeping mess of haystack hair and unconscious mumblings, even though it was edging past noon. Lydia washed her face and did her hair, going through her usual morning routine before sliding back under the covers and sending Allison a quick text. (Allison has actually managed to text her when she’d gotten home, by some miracle.)

_ come over? in need of iced coffee. also need to talk. hope ur not too hungover xx _

She popped open her laptop and opened a tab for Facebook. Little of it caught her interest; her aunt drinking wine with friends, people she knew from school getting engaged, rants about unimportant things and pictures of dogs. Someone had posted a photo of the lacrosse team at the party last night, all toppling over each other to get in the picture. They’d all been tagged.

Her mouse hovered over the tag marked  _ Stiles Stilinski _ for good few minutes. He’d barely made it into the photo, his arm slung around Scott’s shoulders but his right leg somehow out of the frame, He looked on the verge of falling over, but his grin was wild and full.

There actually wasn’t much on his page. His profile picture was of him and Scott, obviously, a couple of years younger and in high school. He had a buzz cut. The only visible posts on his wall that she could see without adding him were pictures he’d been tagged in by Noah Stilinski and Scott. 

Lydia’s phone pinged.

_ on my way, might trip over the stairs and cause a coffee based holdup but i’m on my way x _

She wasn’t going to friend him. Hell, she’d never even felt a need to internet stalk anyone else she'd hooked up with before. Stiles wasn’t special — he wasn’t. But she’d fell asleep with him on her mind and woken up wondering what happened to him after she ditched. 

When Allison arrived, they took a walk, finding an empty bench on campus to sit down and drink their coffee on. Her best friend looked a little worse for wear, squinting in the brightness of the afternoon sun despite her shades.

“So, what’s up? Have a good night?” 

“Of course.” Lydia smiled, having perfected the air of everything’s-fine-even-if-it’s-not. “How late did you leave after I left.”

Allison scoffed, “I don't remember you leaving, Lydia. But Scott was sober and he drove me back to my dorm. Stayed the night, too.”

“Alright, that’s all I need to know.” 

“What about you?”

She frowned, “what about me?”

Allison raised her brows doubtfully, “did anyone stay the night? Did anyone leave before I got there?”

Pursing her lips, Lydia stared down at her coffee cup. Usually it was no big deal to let her best friend know the details of her sex life, they told each other pretty much everything. But Stiles was Scott’s best friend, and Scott and Allison were going so  _ well _ . The idea that Lydia’s hookup with Stiles could rupture anything between Allison and Scott nagged at her mind.

“Jackson?” Allison prompted, picking up on Lydia’s abnormal silence and reluctance. “If so, spare the details. I may have been drunk, but I remember  _ him _ last night. His ego after the game had inflated so big, he practically fucked every girl within a square mile of him, just with his attitude.”

Lydia shook her head with a sigh, “no, I didn’t see him all night. It was someone else.”

“You’re worrying me a little, Lyd. Was it someone bad?”

“It was Stiles.” she admitted, wincing as she looked up at Allison.

Silence. Allison’s mouth gaped to form a silent ‘o’. The creases in her forehead deepened with confusion.

“Stilinski?”

“How many Stiles’ do you think go here, Allison?”

“Oh,” she frowned, “was it— is it— what’s the deal? Are you… happy? Is this a bad thing?”

Lydia gripped her coffee tighter, “you tell  _ me _ . I mean, it was fun. He’s cute. It wasn’t anything more than what it was. I just wasn’t sure how to tell you or what to say, considering Scott and Stiles’ are basically brothers.”

“It’s an upgrade from Jackass Whitemore, Lyds.” Her best friend shrugged her shoulders and smiled reassuringly, just as Lydia’s phone vibrated from inside her pocket.

_ I want to see you. _

“Speak of the devil,” Lydia muttered, staring at Jackson’s text with a conflict of emotions. “I better go, Allison. Thanks for the coffee, and the chat.” She planted a quick kiss on her cheek, “love you.”

“Please make good decisions!” Allison pleaded after her.

The frat house Jackson lived in wasn’t far from campus (she’d gone over there enough times during her breaks to know how long it took to get there and back) but in her hungover, despite coffee, it felt like miles away. When she arrived, the door was wide open.

It was a mess; messier than she’d ever seen it, the frat house was  _ fucked  _ up. Everything looked broken or wrecked. Empty bottles and red solo cups littered the floor, among an array of other trash. There was someone still asleep on the sofa, a half eaten pizza laid down on the side of their face. Closing the door behind her, Lydia tiptoed around the garbage and up the stairs to Jackson’s room.

She had to knock five times before he answered, shirtless with bags under his eyes.

“Hey, babe.” he let her in, sounding not particularly thrilled with her arrival. 

Jackson’s room was, unsurprisingly, immaculate. Assuming it was off limits last night, she wasn’t shocked. He was a neat freak. His need for perfection drove Lydia insane sometimes, but it was better than him being a huge slob, she figured.

He sat on the side of his bed and reached out to pull her between his legs. “I missed you last night. Did you bail?” his hands around her waist weren’t tight, but suddenly she felt trapped.

“I wasn’t feeling well,” she lied, “went home early. Did you have a good time?”

“Would’ve been better if you were there.” he murmured, pulling her up onto his lap and kissing the side of her neck.  _ Sure _ , she thought bitterly,  _ as if you actually cared I wasn’t there _ .

Sex with Jackson was routine. He liked to do it one way, and that was that. It wasn’t boring, he was still good in bed, but Lydia’s sex drive went beyond the same two positions and the same foreplay every time. She was lucky enough that he actually cared if she came or not, but she was sure part of that was just because it helped inflate his ego. After they’d gone at it, Lydia lay with her head on his pillow, reminding herself of the way Stiles’ lips had felt against her skin.

_ Wait, fuck. _

Beside her, Jackson scrolled through Instagram.

She hopped out of bed abruptly, “I need to pee.”

Hurrying into his en-suite, Lydia sat down on the closed lid of his toilet and took a moment to collect her thoughts. Of course she’d compared hookups before -- some people were obviously going to be more enjoyable than others -- but she’d never found herself yearning for someone else. 

Everything except Jackson had been passing.

Everything except Jackson and Stiles.

_ Fuck!  _ She scrunched her fists in her hair, looking at the bed head, makeup smudged mess she’d become after just half an hour with Jackson. Lydia cleaned up the mascara smudges that only made the bags under her eyes look worse and threw her hair up into a  _ literal _ messy bun, not just some highly stylised faux messy bun. Her hair had become a bit of a haystack.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Jackson was asleep. And she was hungry.

She figured — and hoped — that the other guys in his house would be hanging their heads over toilet bowls, and that she could innocently make herself some toast without being disturbed. She cleared a space in the trashed kitchen to prepare her food, avoiding various unidentifiable substances. But obviously, she couldn’t have _one_ _thing_. 

“Oh, oh— hey! Hi! Hey.”

Lydia’s hand froze midway through buttering her bread. She hadn’t even heard him coming, sneaky bastard.

Stiles actually didn’t look worse for wear; he was wearing a loose tee with their university’s name on and sweatpants (how was it fair that someone could look good in sweatpants of all things?), full 5 o’clock shadow on display and smiling wearily. 

Her smile could not have been more forced. “Hi, Stiles, right?” she feigned not recalling his name, and instantly regretted it. His face faltered, and it took him a few seconds too long to recover. 

“Uh, yeah.”  _ Awkward _ . “What are you, uh, what are you doing here?”

“I left my bag, last night.”

“But… you’re making toast.”

“What, is that illegal now? What are  _ you _ doing here?”

“I live here. I pay residence. I buy the bread.”

“Oh. Well, yes.”

Stiles frowned, half humoured and half confused.

Heavy footsteps coming down the corridor jolted them both back to reality. “Babe, where’d you go?”

Jackson appeared in the door frame, unphased by Stiles’ presence as his hands snakes around Lydia’s waist from behind. She cringed involuntarily and hoped Stiles’ hadn’t noticed.

“Ah,” Stiles nodded quietly.

“Just getting a snack, baby.” she wriggled casually out of his grip and picked up the piece of toast, taking a big bite to prove it. “Sorry, did you want anything too?”

“Nah, I think I’m all full up from something else,” he smirked and sidled back towards her, whilst Stiles made a gagging sound next to them. 

Lydia sank deeper into the hole she’d unintentionally dug for herself.

“Let’s go back upstairs.” she decided suddenly, dropping the half eaten toast and grabbing Jackson’s hand. Another minute stood with the both and she’d definitely do a runner. 

She couldn’t look back at Stiles’ as she mounted the stairs again. Jackson’s hand in hers felt stickier and tighter than it ever had before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more stiles next time i promise!!!! lemme know what u think<3 i don’t have a beta so excuse any mistakes lmao  
> follow my writing twitter [cvbeswaters](https://twitter.com/cvbeswaters) or on tumblr at [stacygwehn](https://stacygwehn.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a lil shorter and for that i apologise but good shit to come i promise

Monday morning, and Lydia was ready to shift her life back into gear. She woke up without snoozing her alarm, did her hair (after watching and rewatching videos on how to do a milkmaid braid), put on the outfit she’d chosen the night before and recited some affirmations on her way to class.

_I am strong, I am confident and powerful. Mistakes are just an apprenticeship to achievement. I live in the present and am confident of the future. I have the power to achieve anything._

With her most commanding smile plastered on, she entered the lecture hall, took a seat, and prepped herself to get some goddamn education. The hall filled up and Lydia created a document for the lecture, her other docs all organised and filed on her laptop expertly. It was an area she could control, if only to contrast the lack thereof in other aspects of her life.

Just as the lecturer, a tired looking woman in her 40s, began to speak, the lecture hall door swung open with such force that half the students turned to look. Stiles, wide eyed and blinking fast, had rushed in.

Lydia was too confused to notice that only a few seats remained in the hall until Stiles was setting his bag down next to her. All eyes were still on him, meaning they were consequently on _her_. Lydia bit down on her lower lip and stared resolutely at the front of the hall.

“Hi.” he whispered once the lecturer had begun speaking again, making Lydia unnecessarily flinch.

“Why are you here?”

Stiles stumbled for words, “I— this is my college too.”

She rolled her eyes, turning to face him properly and speaking in her quietest _please-shut-up_ voice. “No, why are you in this class?” Even when he was being annoying in turning up at her seminars or her booty calls, she couldn’t help but think about how cute he looked. He was drowning in a hoodie too big for him; it looked warm and soft, inviting almost.

Lydia physically gave herself a pinch,

“Oh, I took it as a module.” he shrugged.

“Cellular Genetics and Evolution?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you study?”

“Criminal law.”

Lydia nodded, kissing her teeth, “right.”

She couldn’t distract herself from the knowledge he was _right_ beside her for the whole two hours. He fidgeted like crazy, like a six year old who’d had too much candy. His hands tapped away at his keyboard incessantly, writing notes and looking things up like _could Jurassic Park be real one day?_ Lydia didn’t think about how those same hands had been all over her body, tracing her curves and ghosting her skin, inside her and—

Students started packing up around her. She hadn’t even realised the lecture was over. In front of her was a document with maybe only a hundred words on it, and Lydia stared in horror.

“Do you want mine?” Stiles offered innocently, and Lydia couldn’t help but gawk at him. Was she losing her mind?

“That would be really great, actually.”

“Cool, cool. You want me to email them? Or maybe we could, uh, you know, meet up for coffee or food or something and then I could like… give you them there and we could talk…”

She struggled to even register that he was attempting to ask her out.

“Stiles, I— i’m not sure that’s the best idea.” she admitted honestly, despite the part of her that wouldn’t have minded if he took her then and there.

He nodded quickly, too many times and with a smile so obviously painted on. “Oh, yeah, yeah, I understand. That’s fine. What’s your, uh, email address then?”

 _He could’ve asked for your number, or your social media,_ she pondered. But he’d gone for her email, suggesting he’d taken her rejection as the pushing back of boundaries, which Lydia felt both grateful and bad about. She didn’t want to push him away, not really. She just couldn’t figure out where her head was at, or where she _wanted_ it to be at.

“Sounds like he’s really into you. Have you fucked?”

Lydia stared at her roommate incredulously. Malia was lounging on her bed in their dorm, flicking through a book she seemed entirely uninterested in. 

“What— _no_. Not really.”

“And he’s still whipped? Damn, you’re powerful, Martin. When do I get to meet him?” 

She sighed, tired and stressed and about to be behind on her essays if she didn’t finish this one soon. “It’s no joke, Malia.”

“Sounds kinda funny to me.” she shrugged.

“Your social skills are poor.”

With her laptop open on her bed, Lydia eyed the email emoticon. Stiles had gotten her email, but she hadn’t gotten his; the next move was completely on him.

 _Next move?_ She didn’t mean it like that. She didn’t. There were no _moves_ going on here. He’d email her his notes and she’d thank him and they’d be friendly and polite in lectures but she wasn’t going to do anything else with him.

It had been four hours since their lecture. She hated that she was waiting for his email. Part of her was still revelling in the guilt of hooking up with Jackson right in front of him. The guilt wasn’t largely in relation to Stiles himself, it was more in relation to what she’d told him in the bathroom of his frat house that night. She hadn’t been kind to Jackson, she’d trashed him and aired her grievances and been so goddamn vulnerable. What did Stiles think of her when he saw her go back to him after all that?

Lydia chewed her bottom lip anxiously, just as a text came through from Allison.

_party tomorrow night!! not sure which house but you can come pregame with me and Scott?_

Third wheeling on a Tuesday night was not exactly how she’d pictured her evening. She shot a reply back.

_you, Scott and…?_

Allison took a while to respond.

_okay. Stiles will be there. but u said there was nothing going on!!!! please come ily <3 _

Lydia turned back to her flatmate, “hey, Malia?”

The brunettes head whipped up. She had a certain puppy-like energy, one that was both endearing and intimidating. It was hard to ever properly read her.

“Wanna go to a party?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for the lovely comments!!<3

**Author's Note:**

> lots of love<3 mwah<3  
> follow my writing twitter [cvbeswaters](https://twitter.com/cvbeswaters) or on tumblr at [stacygwehn](https://stacygwehn.tumblr.com)


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